


A One Bed Problem

by Sulla



Series: A One Bed Problem [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A response to a prompt on the sherlockbbc_fic kinkmeme which was as follows:</p><p> </p><p>John and Sherlock have to share a bed, *insert good reason here*<br/>It's slightly weird when Sherlock starts spooning John, but John can put up with that.<br/>But when Sherlock starts humping John and moaning his name, John thinks now will properly be a good time to wake him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A One Bed Problem

"Wait a minute... there's only one bed here, Sherlock!"

"Mmm." Sherlock did not seem even the slightest bit perturbed.

John turned around to stare at his flatmate, finding himself rather put out by their situation. They had been stuck in a car for the last four hours in their attempt to reach Hexham, the site of their latest investigation, and now, upon check-in to the inn they had managed to find a room at, they found that the twin beds they had asked for had been replaced with one double bed.

It appeared that the bi-yearly race put on by the Unicyclers For World Peace foundation, whose route traveled along the entire length of Hadrian's Wall from east to west. This oincided with Sherlock's travel plans for the two of them in their pursuit of a missing heir to a considerable fortune. They were now left in a situation where it was near impossible to procure a decent single room due to heavy traffic, let alone two. So John had, rather unhappily, agreed to spend the night in a room with Sherlock. Not that John had any real problem with sleeping in the same room with his friend, but it was simply that he himself could be a restless sleeper, and he didn't want to worry about the possibility of his having one of his nightmares and waking the other man up when he most needed his rest.

And now, the unhappy situation was made even worse. John had worried that he would wake up yelling and disturb Sherlock's sleep, but now he had also to worry about thrashing around and possibly hitting the other man unintentionally. It left John very uncomfortable even thinking about it.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "there's nothing for it, I guess. Do you want the bed, Sherlock? I can sleep on the armchair there, or even on the floor if needed."

Sherlock was perched on the end of the bed, tapping away at his website on his laptop with the help of the inn's free wifi setup. He looked up now, his absent features sharpening into their normal state of keen inspection. "Hmm...pardon? Whyever would you do that? Just sleep in the bed, with me."

John paused in the motion of pulling his jumper over his head. "Really? Uh... do you think that's wise? I can be a little, well, _thrashy_ at night. You probably won't sleep well, and you'll be needed in your best frame of mind tomorrow... no, I'd better take the chair."

"Nonsense. You'll sleep in the bed," stated Sherlock, eyes again on the computer screen.

Silently raising his eyebrows, John knew better than to argue. He shrugged to himself, and after taking off his trousers, leaving him in button-down shirt and his boxers, he slipped under the covers of the bed. He immediately flicked off the lamp on his side of the bed, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. He did not awake when Sherlock put his laptop aside, and climbed into bed beside him, naked.

***

John was awakened by the heavy pressure of an arm curling around him. He jerked into wakefulness, thankfully without a sound much louder than a gasp. Sherlock appeared to be sound asleep. John lay on his right side, and now that he was fully awake, he could feel that the larger man had pulled up directly behind him, the two of them fitting like spoons with his knees right behind John's, his chest to John's back, and his face buried in John's hair. He could feel each long, warm breath against his scalp as Sherlock snuffled slightly in his sleep.

Okay, this was odd. It was a little too close for comfort - or in actual fact, a little to comfortable for him to be so close. It had been too long since John had shared a bed with another person; when he stayed at Sarah's flat, he always kipped on the sofa, or after the first few times, on the lilo at Sarah's knowing suggestions. John had almost forgotten what it was like to share his space with another human being, to feel warm, held and comforted.

The unfortunate thing is that his body remembered what it was like, and John suddenly found himself in a mental battle as his penis filled with blood. He could control this, though. Mind over matter. No problem. And eventually John drifted back into an unsettled sleep.

The next time John awoke, it quickly became clear that Sherlock's spooning embrace had been the precursor to something more erotic. The arm around his chest had tightened, pulling him absolutely flush to the detective's body from head to toe. And the other man's body appeared to be having the same problem that John had had earlier. Yes, John was pretty sure that the solid length that was being slowly but rhythmically pressed into his backside was Sherlock's engorged cock.

John was completely torn. What on earth should he do in this situation? Even in all his years of soldiering he had never encountered this kind of closeness with another man. It was apparent that Sherlock was having some kind of sexual dream, and was probably embracing a beautiful woman in his head. Where on earth did that leave John? Well, that was obvious: with a startlingly attractive flatmate humping him and dreaming of someone else.

That very thought was swiftly brushed aside as Sherlock began to vocalize in his sleep. At first John thought it was non-sensical murmuring, but it was not long before he could no longer delude himself.

"MmmmmJohnmmn..."

And with that John's mind began working in overdrive. It appeared that Sherlock was dreaming of him. Sexually, it seemed. Dreaming of him sexually, and starting to dry-hump his arse for good measure. Good god! Was it time to wake Sherlock up? And if so, what would he say? 'Hey Sherlock, I'd really appreciate it if you stopped humping my arse?' Or maybe 'Hey Sherlock, I know you said we would be working closely this time, but I didn't know you meant this closely!' Or, good heavens, even 'hey Sherlock, please continue humping my arse, but will you give me a hand to help with my own hard-on?'

Because, as difficult and confusing and downright irksome as this situation was, John was getting hard, and fast. Sherlock wanted him, at least in his dreams. This changed things. He didn't know how, but it did.

Thinking a mile a minute as he was, John barely even noticed at first when Sherlock began placing wet kisses on his neck. John's mind went absolutely blank when it processed this new information. The hand around his midsection tightened as well, and that very hand found it's way under John's shirt, rubbing circles on his taut belly. The rocking of the detective's hips didn't stop for a moment.

Without thinking, John's body moved. His hips began to thrust, pressing forward into nothing, flexing his rigid cock and rubbing it against its' cloth enclosure. Then pressing back, bringing Sherlock's cock tight against the cleft of his buttocks. After a few moments of this, Sherlock murmured his name twice in a row and his hips did a little rotating movement, and suddenly the man's cock had slipped down, and the head of it was now pressing at the seam between John's legs. John promptly and without thinking opened his legs, and Sherlock's dick slipped perfectly into place between John's thighs.

John when deadly still. Wait a minute - that meant... John carefully, gently, so as not to wake the sleeping man, reached back and his hand fell upon Sherlock's hip. Sherlock's _naked_ hip.

John was gobsmacked. Since when did a man crawl into his flatmate's bed naked? Was this one of those awkward situations wherein Sherlock was unaware or ignorant of the social norms? If so, this had been a big one for him to have missed. John couldn't fathom what was happening here. Was this some kind of inept sexual advance? Well, he had to find out.

John stopped his hips in their movements and took his had away from Sherlock's flank.

"Sherlock. Hey, Sherlock"

"Hmmfph. Mmwhat...John?" The lips that had been brushing the nape of his neck suddenly stopped, and John felt rather than saw consciousness invading that whip-sharp mind.

"John." The hand on his belly didn't move, but the thrusting of the man's hips stopped, leaving the detective's solid and rather large cock still embraced by John's naked thighs. A little bit of wetness had leaked from it, making the whole area a little slick.

"Sh-Sherlock." What would he do? John braced for the other man to pull away, turn over, turn away. After all, how would he feel if he had woken up to embracing a friend this way? He knew he would be mortally embarrassed.

In actual fact, though, Sherlock did remarkably little. He lay there silently, and reached his hand down slightly, leaving John's belly to feel for his cock inside his pants. Encountering it as hard as a cock could get, Sherlock closed his fist around it and squeezed. John moaned and thrust his hips forward. The hand then left his penis, only to slide up the entire length of his body from hip to shoulder to neck and finally to clasp the side of his face, turning his head back so that, propping himself up slightly, he could get a look at John's face in the moon-lit darkness of the room.

Their eyes met. The seconds ticked by in endless silence. Finally, John realized what Sherlock must be wondering. He nodded his head once, and swiftly, as if that movement was all Sherlock had been waiting for his entire life, the detective gave John the most erotic kiss he'd ever experienced in his life. It was a gentle give and take of lips, with just the tiniest hint of flicking tongues. Sherlock's hand left John's face again, retracing it's route down his body, stopping by way of his nipples, and tweaking each in turn.

John clamped his legs together, squeezing Sherlock's cock between them, making a tight, slick place for the detective to thrust into. The hand drifted down from his nipples and slipped John's pants down and off, returning his hand to encircle his cock once again. This time he took up a slow stroking motion, gathering some of the fluid seeping from the tip and using it to lubricate the shaft. John moaned quietly. Sherlock very nearly purred.

Working together, it was not long before the two of them reached orgasm. John fell first, silently milked to fruition by the wonderful hands of the detective, one hand constantly stroking, the other moving down to knead John's balls, press at his perineum and play with his foreskin. When he had come down from his high, John watched lazily as Sherlock gathered up some of his spent come and used the liquid to slicken the passage between John's thighs.

"Squeeze tight," Sherlock whispered, and John did his best. Sherlock's thrusts went from measured to frantic within a few short moments.

"OhhmmJohn..." he murmured, and John could feel the dick between his legs flex and spasm in it's release. Good lord, John thought, was there ever going to be a wet spot on this bed.

It seems Sherlock had been thinking exactly the same thing, for as soon as he had finished twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm, he gently removed his cock from the confines of John's thighs and sat up in bed, reaching for the towel on the rack at the end of the bed, at the door to the ensuite. He turned back and gathered John closer to him, spreading out the towel in front of him, making a dry, comfortable spot for John to roll back onto, which he did as soon as Sherlock finished his straightening.

For several long minutes, the two men lay side by side on the bed, unspeaking. The last thing John remembers before falling asleep is the way Sherlock's hand creeps over and takes his own.


End file.
